Force of Nature
by MinionRipley
Summary: Sten hates traveling south. Well, except in one case. Written for a kink meme request. Rated M for detailed smut.


Kinks/Warnings: F!Amell/Sten pairing, oral, a bit of orgasm denial.

(Well, here's to hoping I didn't butcher Sten's character too much, all things considered. I hope you enjoy!)

Force of Nature

To be Sten of the Beresaad, vanguard of the Qunari, was to be certain of himself. It was to understand his place and the world around him. It was to achieve inner peace. His role, his purpose, his very identity – they were all encoded in the teachings of the Qun and held as close as the sword in his hand. Asit tal-eb. To be Sten was, simply, to be.

It was, however, not without its _other_ benefits.

The women he met in his travels, for instance, were a benefit. A very pleasing benefit.

Even as a fresh-faced soldier, he'd not been unaware of the liaisons of his comrades on those ventures into foreign lands. Whenever they stopped to rest in a town, he could expect it as certainly as the sun rose and set – several of their troop would vanish into the streets at night, only to reappear the next morning, their war-paint smudged and smelling faintly of Damascus roses and musk. He didn't need anyone to tell him, nor did he need to hear the whispers they thought concealed, to know where they had gone.

At first he had balked. The Qun disapproved of such activities, especially those between Qunari and basra. Sex was for reproduction, it clearly said; such trysts for pleasure were a distraction, nothing more.

However, he also hadn't been blind to the dry, almost cold professionalism of the few breeding opportunities he'd experienced under the Qun. Though it sated his body and that of his partner's, it was only that. Inside he still wanted and ached, and with each time his disappointment only grew.

Then, on a foray into foreign territory in Seheron during his twenty-second year, he followed those few soldiers out into the night, and he learned what he had been missing.

Sometimes he wondered: Was it truly against the Qun?

In the years that followed, the thought occasionally surfaced, swimming uneasily in his stomach. But the act gave him a reprieve from his desires, and he found his focus and mood vastly improved by it. Even the potential diseases one could contract from such encounters were curable by known medicine. The act did not harm him. On the contrary, he could serve the Qun even better than before.

Other times that worry fell away, only to be replaced by another, perhaps greater one. It was only a matter of time before the Ben-Hassrath would notice and take him away for reeducation. They _must_ know, he thought; _everyone_ knew. A few times he wondered why they hadn't come for him long ago.

Here, with the Grey Warden who had released him from his cage what felt like a small age past, such thoughts did not bother him as much as they once had.

Initially, it simply hadn't mattered anymore. He was an exile without his blade and soul; he knew he would be executed upon sight if he went back. Then the Warden, against all odds, had somehow found and returned to him that which he thought forever lost.

But even then, with his sword recovered and his mission completed to the word, he lingered.

_I could deliver a much more satisfying answer to the Arishok's question if the Blight were ended, don't you agree?_

A convenient excuse. He knew the real reason of why he stayed.

Sten peered at the Warden across the campfire from him as he meditatively ran a whetstone along his blade. They were the only ones beside the flame. The others had left after supper to busy themselves elsewhere, washing clothes or other activities he had no interest in. She sat quietly on a rock, reading a small book bound in leather.

Yes, "she" – a woman.

When he'd first met the Warden and heard the need of aid against the Blight, he'd assumed a man stood before him. Grey Wardens were warriors, he knew, and so it followed they were all men. The curvaceous figure was a trick of the eye, most likely caused by the way the robes bunched around the hips and chest. The high, lilting voice was unusual, but not impossible.

It'd only taken one evening in camp to discover his error.

Of course he had known of the practice of hiring on women in the arts of war, and he'd personally encountered it in the bands of mercenaries and Tevinter forces his unit had faced. But it was an illogical one, driven by flawed social structures and desires. He knew the proper places of men and women, and he saw its proof in how those under the Qun thrived and in how those who deviated sooner or later fell. As much as he had been impressed by stories of the Grey Wardens, he had simply thought them better than that.

Apparently, he had been wrong.

And, in the coming months, the Warden proved him wrong about more.

Joelle Amell – her personal name, though he thought "Warden" served well enough – had demonstrated herself well beyond his expectations. As a leader, she had guided them through tangled politics and labyrinthine plots. As a fighter, she had never hesitated to attack first in battle, and she gave as good as – if not better than – any of their group. Even as a mage, she had shown herself past reproach, her magic powerful but always firmly under control, never a bolt or spell out of a place.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he could make her lose control.

He stamped down on the thought, at least for now.

Theirs had always been an awkward relationship, fueled by his distrust of bas customs and magic and her frustration with his constant skepticism. But, as they interacted and spoke more with one another, it had relaxed and even warmed, and in time he had come to treasure her as his kadan.

Truthfully, it was still quite awkward, though not for the same reasons it had been.

On the other side of the fire, the Warden crossed her legs, giving him a glimpse of a dark, naked thigh. His grip on the whetstone faltered slightly, and he squashed another unbidden thought.

No, the truth was that, in those months, she had also proven to him how _very_ much of a woman she was. The evidence of it refused to leave his waking reflections, and more times than he cared to admit it invaded his dreams as well.

Once, he had mistakenly walked in on her dressing, and though she had laughed it off, the memory of her soft, ebony skin and flaring hips stuck in his mind. Another time he'd caught her bathing by accident, and while she hadn't seen him, he hadn't been able to help how his eyes lingered on her breasts or the thought of how perfectly they would fit in his hands. Then, most recently, he had set up his tent next to hers one night, and just as he was about to fall asleep, he heard her: small, mewling gasps and sighs. At first he'd thought her in pain, but a moment later he realized what she was doing, and it summoned in him an unrelenting heat that burned through his body and coiled in his groin. Even hours after she had quieted, he lay awake, frustrated. The next day, the Chantry sister commented that he seemed grumpier than usual.

Whether such instances were unintentional or not, he wasn't sure. But if his desires were to be realized, he hoped for the latter, even as they made him restless in the interim.

To be entirely honest, it was one particular desire he had in mind. The one he enjoyed above all.

Unfortunately, it was also the one he had the most difficulty satisfying. Cleanliness was of utmost importance to him for such a thing, and the majority of the bas he solicited in the winding alleyways of cities he found frankly lacking. Then, of those few who met his standards, he had the luck of them being the most vocal as well. A factor he did not mind, truly – and sometimes rather enjoyed – if not for the fact that others around did not seem to appreciate it likewise. More than once a passerby, concerned by the sounds, had burst into their rented room at an inn and ruined the mood.

And, of course, all of that was assuming the woman was not put off by his sort to begin with. Even without the horns or sharp nails common to his kind, many were too intimidated by his size alone, and he did not have enough fluency in their tongue to express what he really wanted.

But, with a half-twitch of his lips that was a small smile for him, he remembered that was no longer the case.

"All right. What is it, Sten?"

Her voice, though soft, startled him out of his reverie. He noticed that he had ceased to sharpen his sword at some point as well. He frowned at the realization. Such a distracted mind would help no one, least of all himself, and especially not in a fight.

Vashedan. He needed to put an end to this.

The Warden was still watching, her open book resting on her knees. He could make out some scrawling text, but nothing specific at this distance. The fire crackled and popped between them, the smoke drifting up into the star-specked evening sky.

"Come on, Sten," she said. "You've been staring at me for the past ten minutes. Something must be on your mind."

"Yes, there is," he confessed, though he said nothing more for a time.

The Warden had long since grown used to the slow nature of their exchanges, and she patiently waited for clarification. He contemplated how best to give it.

There was no point in bumbling about like the other Grey Warden did with the Chantry sister. He knew what he wanted, and he had no qualms about it. But he knew being too direct could hurt his chances as well. The elf had already made numerous thinly-veiled passes at the Warden, all of them to no success. And, in all the time he had known her, he had failed to mention this particular _preference_ of his. No matter what he said at this point, it would come as a surprise to her.

He sighed. At least he knew how to be blunt.

"I wish to eat you out."

Her brow crinkled. "Uh… You wish to _eat out_?"

"No. I wish to eat _you_ out," he said, frowning. "That is the correct wording, is it not?"

Her eyes widened, and she pressed a hand against a cheek in embarrassment. "I, um… You _do_ know what you're saying, don't you?" she whispered. "Zevran didn't tell you that was how to ask for the salt or something like that, did he?"

Sten scowled. He couldn't think of a better way to phrase his request. He knew the language, but apparently not well enough. "Of course I do not trust the elf in such matters," he said.

Still she appeared doubtful. "Then-"

With a rumbling huff, he placed his forefinger and middle finger against his mouth, parted them, and then ran his tongue between them.

"All right, all right!" she squeaked, her eyes round. "I get it! You can stop with the illustration!" She laughed, a nervous, high note in her voice, as he put his hand back down. "I'm sorry. It was just… You looked like you were asking if you should add another log to the fire. I couldn't tell if you actually _knew_."

He simply continued frowning.

"Anyway… I mean…" With a sigh, she finally asked, "You do know what all that _involves_, don't you?"

He nodded. "Yes. I have done it before."

"Before?"

"Yes."

She raised her eyebrows at him, but he did not elaborate.

With another sigh, she looked down and shook her head, and he felt his heart sink in disappointment. That was, until she said, "I might regret saying this, but I've been, ah, _thinking_ about you, too, Sten." She ran a hand along the back of her neck. "Quite a lot."

A flash of desire blazed to life low in his stomach. "Then…?"

She laughed again. "Yes!" she said, meeting his gaze once more. "Yes, I would be willing to give it a go."

At that, he stood and then offered her a hand.

There she hesitated, staring at his open palm with wide eyes, and he worried again that he had been too abrupt. "Wait. Now?" she asked. "You want to do it _now_?"

His frown returned. "The others are preoccupied, supper has passed, and there are no other pressing tasks to complete. It is as good a time as any. Unless you are uncomfortable…?"

"No, it isn't that," she said, snapping her book shut and setting it down beside her on the rock. She ran a hand along the back of her neck once more. "I guess I am just surprised, is all."

"Surprised," he repeated flatly.

She grinned slightly. "I don't know. What about flowers? A little romance or – what did Alistair call it – 'wooing'?"

He sighed. "Warden."

She giggled. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. You know me."

"Unfortunately."

With a wide smile, she finally accepted his hand and rose. "All right, you charmer. Lead the way."

He took her to his tent, which was slightly larger than hers and positioned further from the center of camp. All the same, it was not a long walk, and no one spared them a second glance. They were known for sharing the evenings together in one another's tents, mainly discussing battle strategies but also sometimes speaking of homes and journeys. A few times they had even fallen asleep together, and once he had woken in the night to her hugging his side as she slept.

He enjoyed those evenings greatly, likely more than she knew.

As he set aside his sword and whetstone, he heard the Warden behind him, the soft sound of the rug sliding beneath her as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "So, what should I do first?" she asked.

"I suggest disrobing," he replied.

"Oh! Good idea."

He heard her move again, and a moment later he felt her hands tugging at the ties along one of his shirtsleeves. He sighed.

"You didn't say who," she added liltingly.

Rather than pursuing her childish game, he simply turned around and began to divest her of her ornate clothing himself. Numerous small buttons and ties lined the multi-layered robes, many more than he thought there could ever be a need for. He growled when one stuck, and he plucked at it in growing frustration.

With a small smile, she asked, "Do you need any help?"

He pulled at the button again, without success. "No."

"Are you sure?"

He tried again, and again it held fast. "Very."

She finished untying the laces along his other sleeve, and with one firm pull from the bottom to the top, she had his shirt over his head and then off completely. The cool evening air washed over him, sending small goosebumps pricking along his skin, as she tossed the garment onto a nearby chest. He reached for her, intent on resuming his efforts, but she stepped back and away.

With a few tugs, she undid several clasps at the front of her robes, untied the sash around her waist, and let it all drop to the ground, leaving her clad in only her underthings, stockings, and shoes. "Better?" she asked.

He frowned. "You could have done that to begin with," he said, though his tone lacked any real accusation.

"And miss watching you?" she said. "Never."

With a rumbling growl, he grabbed her by the arms and dragged her back to him. She squeaked when he suddenly spun her around and deftly undid her brassiere. _That_ garment, at least, was much more familiar to him.

"Easy there, big guy," the Warden said, a little shakily, though its lowness told him it did not come from fear. She let out a small groan when he ran his hands down her sides, hooked his thumbs into her smallclothes, and pushed them off in one smooth motion. She obligingly kicked off her shoes and stockings along with the article of clothing. "You know, I always thought you were more averse to sex than this."

He pulled her back against himself and ground his stiffening member into her backside. "As you can tell, that is not the case."

She squeaked again, and unbeknownst to her, he smirked at the sound.

She struggled to turn around in his grasp, but he didn't relent in his hold. With a grunt, he lifted her up and then sat down on his bedroll before setting her on his lap and wrapping his arms around her, pinning her own to her sides in the process. It was then, with her reclined against him, that he remembered how small she was compared to him. Even standing, she only came midway up his chest.

He loosened his hold slightly and leaned down to nuzzle the curve between her shoulder and neck.

She tried to shift again, but still he didn't allow it. Instead, he dragged his hands across her stomach, listening to her giggle when he brushed her navel, and then up to her chest to roll and pinch her black nipples between his fingers.

She squirmed and gasped in response. "Come on, Sten," she said. "At least let me touch you."

"And at what point did I imply this would involve you doing so?"

She stiffened in surprise, and he could almost hear her frown when she said, "You're impossible. You know that, right?"

He gave a small, rumbling hum against her skin before trailing his lips up her neck and then to her ear to suck on the lobe. "Relax, kadan."

She squirmed again when he tugged sharply on a nipple. "I'm trying, but you're making it hard." He flicked the tip of one bud, and she arched, pushing her hips back against his groin. He grunted, jerking slightly at the sudden pressure, and she sniggered. "Though I can tell that's not the only thing that's _hard_."

He sighed. "You speak too much."

"I speak exactly- ah! Ohh." She broke off into a long moan as he slid a digit inside of her slick entrance.

"Better."

Sten pressed his finger into her for several moments longer, curling and uncurling it against the pleasure spot he knew hidden within. But she wasn't yet as wet as she could be, and he eventually withdrew to lightly stroke her nether lips and occasionally thumb her clit. His other hand continued to work at her breasts, and he paused to squeeze one, growling lowly at the sight of the flesh overflowing his grasp.

Within minutes, the Warden began to pant and rock her hips against his touch. After another minute, she began to struggle again, and when that failed, she started to beg.

"Please, Sten, let me come already!" she cried. "Just, please!"

He kept on at his leisurely pace, apparently unmoved by her pleas if not for the erection straining at his breeches and the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He could smell her now, the aroma of her arousal heady and slightly sweet in the air. She had also grown much wetter than before, and her slickness coated both his hand and her inner thighs. His hard length leapt, rubbing against her rear, at the thought of shoving his face between her legs and devouring that sweetness.

Just as she began to stiffen in orgasm, he released her, pulling her off his lap and then spinning her again to lay her face-up on the bedroll. She gave a keening whine and immediately reached for her nethers with her own hands, which he arrested short of their goal and easily dragged above her head. With a quick motion, he had both of her wrists in one hand, leaving his other free to help steady himself above her.

The Warden gasped for breath, narrowing her eyes up at him as he knelt between her legs. "I had no idea you were such a tease, Sten," she grumbled.

"I said I wish to eat you out," he replied, arching an eyebrow at her. "I believe I have not done so."

She pouted. "Well, when are you going to?"

"Not yet."

"Why, you-"

He silenced her with a firm kiss against her lips. She initially froze at the contact, only to sigh and relax against him a moment later. Then she began to return it, her anger forgotten as she slid her mouth against his, skin soft against his chapped lips.

At least it was forgotten until he reached down between her legs and began to gently stroke her again.

"S-Stop being a _tease_," she moaned against his mouth.

He made no reply, save to thrust a finger inside of her once more. It slid in with ease, and again he curled it against the place he knew. She gasped as her hips bucked against his hand in return.

He continued the motion for several minutes, watching as her expression alternately twisted and relaxed in growing pleasure. Moans poured forth from her lips with each caress, at once spurring him on faster and making him wish to prolong the moment. Then, once more, he pulled away just as she began to tremble knowingly.

"F-Fuck," she groaned. She struggled against his grip, though fruitlessly. "_Please_, Sten."

The sight of her, restrained and begging for his touch, roused a fierce desire in him that burned bright and sharp in his core, sinking down into his groin and making him throb. Even in the dim lighting, the contours of her dark skin shone, her breasts rising and falling with her heaving chest and her nether lips like a dewy burgundy rose. He reached down and caressed her, slipping his thumb against her clit and rubbing it in slow circles. He watched her writhe and moan, until again she began to stiffen and then he quickly drew his hand away.

She fell back against the bedroll with a low, keening sob.

"You are on edge," he murmured, running his fingers along her inner thigh.

"I wonder _why_," she panted, glaring at him.

He suppressed a smirk. "Impatience is a trait befitting of an imekari, kadan, not a soldier," he said.

She sputtered. "Are you _lecturing_-"

He chose that moment to bend down and suck a nipple into his mouth, and her retort broke off into a stuttering gasp. He swept his tongue across the tightened peak, at first in slow, wide circles along her areola and then in tighter, faster spirals over the pebbled tip itself. He pulled away and blew a breath across the sensitive skin, watching with silent pleasure as she groaned and arched against the touch, before leaning down and giving it a hard, hollow-cheeked suck that left her squealing.

Then he moved across her chest to the other breast, giving it the same attention. Lick, swirl, blow, suck, and then back to the other breast and repeat.

Sten did this several times, glancing up at her face on occasion to see her fluttering eyelashes and the sweat beading on her brow. A few times he reached down and stroked his fingers over her drenched nethers, and her mouth would stretch wide as she cried out in abandon. Then, every time he stopped, ceasing his caresses just as she approached her end, she would groan and struggle against him.

Initially the Warden fought hard, her arms twisting in his grip and magic sparking at the edges of her hands, barely kept in check. The latter, oddly, aroused him the most, as thoughts of fighting that power and conquering it, wresting it under _his_ control, flickered through his mind.

But, eventually, she began to struggle less, and soon she relaxed, or at least as relaxed as she could be. Her chest heaved as she gasped for breath, her brow furrowed in frustration and sweat shining on her body, but she was at last limp and unresisting to his touch.

He pressed a kiss to the valley between her breasts, tasting the salt of sweat and something uniquely her. "Do you yield, kadan?" he asked.

Her mouth opened, a retort seeming on the tip of her tongue, but then she thought better and closed it. "Yes," she answered at last, more than a little breathlessly. "Yes, I yield, Sten."

Unseen, his lips widened into a grin against her skin.

When he straightened, pulling himself up to kneel before her once more, his face was again stoic. He released her wrists from his hold. Instead he gently took them each into his hands, pressing the roughened pads of his fingers into the curves of her muscles and tendons, soothing away the aches he had given her. She sighed in contentment as he did, and he took the moment to admire the black halo of her hair, the roundness of her face, and the way her cheeks dimpled slightly as she smiled.

_Beautiful_, Sten thought, and the depth of feeling that welled in him surprised him for a brief second.

But then he relaxed, and he guided her hands to the sheets on either side of her hips. "Rest, kadan," he said. "In this, I will lead."

She nodded and let her hands recline beside her. No easy test of restraint as she was then, if the way she trembled when his fingertips again brushed her inner thigh said anything. He ran his hand along her leg, from hip to knee and then back, contemplating if he should prolong his ministrations more.

But she had already submitted to him. She was yielding and soaked. To delay further would only serve to torment them both, and it had been so long since the last…

He leaned down again, bracing his forearms on either side of her, and pressed another kiss to the valley between her breasts. Then he dragged his mouth down, over her ribcage, across her stomach, dipping into her navel briefly to hear giggle again, and then lower to her wet slit. Her scent was thick and heady, musky with a hint of tangy sweet, and her core was hot against his face. The rush of desire was nearly too much for him, and he forced himself to stop short of his goal, lest he lose all control.

He pushed away briefly to unlace his breeches and pull himself free. The bedroll below him was soft enough to rub against if he wanted, though honestly such concerns were far from foremost in his mind. Truly, once he began, he doubted he would even notice.

He bent forward once more and drew in a deep breath, letting her aroma suffuse every inch of his awareness. The smell of her was strong, warm, and wet, bathing his face like the jungles of Seheron after a midday rainfall. Anticipation burned bright and hot in him, arousal coursing through his veins so sharply he could feel his heartbeat in his erection.

Then he pressed forward and licked a long, slow line up her slit. She was soaked with her arousal, and she tasted much as she smelled – rich, thick, and sweet. It dragged a deep groan from his chest. He drew his tongue across her outer lips several more times, as much to tease himself as her.

Then, finally, he pushed inside, and the sensation of it left him at a loss for words for several seconds.

Hot, slick, soft, and – as he slid his tongue into her core – exquisitely tight. He leisurely thrust his tongue into her, reveling in the way her dripping sheath stretched around the broad muscle. The Warden panted heavily as he did, her trembling legs a sign of how close she was to completion.

For once, Sten relented. He dragged his tongue from her center and then further up her lips until he found the bud he sought. As his tongue swept over it, she cried out and locked her thighs around his head, but to this he only gripped her legs to spread them wide as he pushed harder against her. Again and again he pressed his tongue against her, first with slow, flat caresses and then, as she began to groan and curse, with faster, direct strokes.

It took little time for her to orgasm. With a half-choked scream, she bucked against his face, or at least what little she could with her legs still firmly in his grasp. When she grew too sensitive, gasping and trying to twitch away, he drew back, turning his attention to her folds as she calmed.

But he was far from done with her.

"O-Oh, my goodness," she sighed. "Really, tha-_Ahhhhh!_"

Sten started in again, running his tongue up along her nether lips to swirl around her clit. Then he eagerly sucked the bud between his lips, delighting in the way she writhed and moaned. She was delicious in every way, from her taste to her sounds to the way she pushed her hips against his face. He chided himself for not thinking to ask her for this much earlier.

He realized he had begun to unconsciously grind his own groin against the sheets below him. He was achingly hard and pulsing, and he doubted he would last long after such a time without. In the future he would endeavor to be more thorough, but for now he would take what he could get.

He drew away from her clit just as she began to shudder in impending completion. Instead he lapped hard at her entrance, pushing his tongue in and out of her soaking depths, moaning at the wetness that flooded his mouth. He moved his entire head against her, sliding the bridge of his nose against the nub of flesh he'd left neglected. Again he could feel her tensing, her sheath rippling around his tongue, but he did not let up.

The Warden came with a keening wail. This time he felt her hands at his hair, at first holding him close and then tugging at his braids to get him to ease off.

"S-Sten, enough! Please!" she cried.

But he refused. Sten pressed determinedly against her, renewing his efforts with increased vigor. _Vashedan_. He didn't think he could stop even if he wanted to. She – _kadan_ – was beyond anything he had hoped, and her flesh, taste, and sounds were a glory all their own. The feel of her against his tongue and face drove any other thought from his head except for more, more, _more_.

The Warden gasped and sobbed, hips alternately canting towards him and then away, and it encouraged him further. Her hands were at his hair, at his neck, at times freezing cold and then burning hot, but the sensation only spurred him on. He moved with her, from his mouth at her core to his hands still firmly around her thighs to his erection grinding into the sheets below him. They were as one, like the waves of the sea crashing upon the beach, driving each other to ever greater heights.

He lost count of the times he brought her to completion. Her moans rose and fell with her pleasure, and he could think of wanting nothing more than rising her higher and higher. He was drowning in her, lost to everything about her. Her ecstasy was his, and each time she cried out in orgasm, it was as though it were his own. His erection throbbed beneath him, and he groaned against her lips, thrusting his tongue into her as deep as he could. The edge of his own completion was approaching, tightening hot and insistent in his groin, and he knew it would not be long before he fell over.

She sobbed again, her fingers scratching at his scalp, her sheath fluttering around his tongue as her wetness drenched his mouth once more in orgasm. That was all it took.

Sten growled as the pleasure of it overtook him. His erection pulsed once, twice, and then he was coming, seed jetting out onto the sheets. The first spurt was brief, but the second was longer, as was the third and fourth. In that moment it felt as though he were coming forever, spending months' worth of unmet desire below him.

And then, gradually, the searing flash of bliss receded into a warm haze of satisfaction.

Sten pulled away from the Warden and rested his head on her inner thigh, loosening his hold on her legs, as he waited for his strength to return. He gently ran a thumb over the skin where he had grasped her, certain she would have bruises in the morning. Well, if she did not just heal herself first.

He looked up at her and found her still fairly breathless, her black eyelashes fluttering against her dark cheeks. Even so, she smiled down at him and said, "_Wow_. I had no idea you had that in you, Sten."

He merely grunted and pulled himself up. He looked around himself for several moments before finding a rag to wipe his face off with, as well as the seed smeared on his abdomen. He frowned upon glancing down at his breeches, however. They, too, were covered in his spend, making them unfit for further wear until he washed them. With a huff, he pulled them off along with his smallclothes and threw them to the side of the tent.

The Warden appreciatively ran her eyes over him, though she made no move to reach for him. "By the Blight, how could you hide that from me?" she said, only slightly upset. "If I weren't so exhausted, I'd jump you now."

He felt a measure of pride at her admission, though he did not let it show. Instead he lay down next to her and pulled a blanket over both of their bodies. "Rest, kadan," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. He rumbled contentedly at her warm scent and the feeling of her soft body against his, familiar and comforting. "We must rise early tomorrow to continue our travels."

The Warden sighed and, with a yawn, relaxed. Within moments, she was asleep. Sten was not far behind.

The next day on the road, the Warden and the Chantry sister strode ahead of the group, quietly talking. As Sten adjusted his sword belt, he overheard:

"Like a force of nature, non?"

"Oh, you have _no idea_."


End file.
